15. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Lily
I roll over in bed and am hit by light streaming through the windows that forces my eyes open. I must have forgotten to close the curtains.
At least that’s what I think until I realize those are not my windows, and those are not my curtains. This isn’t even my bed.
It’s all Jackson’s.
I shoot up and grab at the spot in bed next to me. He’s gone, the sheets and pillow mussed where he had been lying.
“What time is it?” I mutter to myself, fumbling through the sheets to try and find my phone. Fuck, where did I leave my phone?
I remember every second of last night when it comes to Jackson, but as far as where I dropped my phone or even my clothes, all bets are off. I crawl down to the end of the bed in all my nakedness, remembering the point in the night when we undressed each other, slow and luscious. However, when I look over the edge, there aren’t any clothes to be seen.
“What the fuck?”
I hear a buzzing sound and move to my knees, looking around the room.
It might not be the master bedroom, but it’s huge. Of course, it is. He’s a billionaire for crying out loud. He could afford for every room to be its own house. Anyway, not the point.
I hear the buzzing again and get to my feet. Damn, I am sore .
In the best way, of course.
I find the phone on the nightstand where I didn’t look, like a dummy.
Oh no.
It’s late. Like way-past-the-start-of-my-shift late.
There’s a flurry of texts.
Mom, Dad, Kayla.
Will. Ugh. I thought I blocked him.
As I scroll through the various ‘Where are you?’ text messages, I trip across the room to a chair in the corner that has all my clothes folded nicely in a stack. That must have been Jackson’s doing. And that’s unreasonably hot for some reason, that he took the time to fold my clothes.
I am truly at the point where bare minimum behavior makes me swoon.
But Jackson is not bare minimum. He never has been.
I send off a few texts to let everyone know I’m alive and fine, and I’ll be at work soon, and I’m so, so sorry. Save Will of course. He doesn’t get access to me like that.
Once I’m dressed, I skitter into the hallway. I can hear music down the hall, so I follow the sound until I’m in the sun-washed kitchen with lofted skylights and a huge L-shaped bar at the center where at least six people could sit and eat.
And there’s Jackson at the stove, his back to me. Wearing a pair of sweatpants and . . . no shirt.
Even his back is beautiful.
Classic rock wafts through speakers that are . . . they’re in the ceiling? Is it surround sound? I don’t know why I’m surprised anymore. Maybe because the only time I see his wealth is in his nice car and bicycle.
Jackson turns around from whatever he’s tending to on the stove, and he smiles. “You’re awake.”
That’s a smile better than a cup of coffee. “Yeah, I’m awake.”
Great, now we’re stating facts like we’re talking about the weather.
“If you want some coffee, I just brewed a fresh pot. There’s also iced coffee in the fridge, or I could make you an espresso if –“
“Cup of coffee is great, thanks,” I say and go to the coffee pot next to the insane looking espresso machine. I open the cabinet above the pot and find stacks of matching white mugs right away.
“Breakfast is almost ready if you’re hungry.”
I pour a cup of coffee and sip it, paying no mind to how hot it is. I pad over to his elbow. “Mmm. What are you making?”
“Omelets,” he says with a shiny smile.
Yep, looks like omelets. Full of a rainbow of vegetables. “Smells . . . amazing.”
“Good, I’m glad. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so . . . ”
“I’ll like whatever you make,” I say.
Jackson’s nose grows red. “Take a seat, and I’ll bring it to you.”
I sit at the L-shaped bar, feeling dwarfed by its size. “You didn’t have to do all of this.”
Jackson slides the omelet onto a plate. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know. Most guys don’t.” What am I saying? I’ve dated exactly one guy. One . And the few flutters of one-night stands when Will and I were on breaks through the years never included sleepovers. I don’t have enough data to decide anything is ‘most.’
Jackson walks over to the other side of the bar and places the plate in front of me, resting a fork delicately on its rim. “After last night, you need protein.”
My jaw drops, and I look at him in shock. Jackson doesn’t maintain eye contact but smiles to himself. Smug. “Isn’t cooking shirtless, like, dangerous?”
Jackson glances down at his gorgeous chest and then shrugs. “I can put on a shirt if you want.”
“Now, that’s not what I said.”
Again, he’s smug. Damn him. If I say anything now, I’ll bumble through my words, so instead I attend to the omelet in front of me, taking a delicious, cheesy peppery bite. “Mmm.”
“Good?”
I nod and swallow it down. “Really good. I didn’t know you could cook.”
“Well . . . ” Jackson clears his throat. “Our grandfather did a good job with us. Plus, I’ve been on my own long enough. You have to figure out how to do things for yourself.”
My eyes catch his. There’s a sadness in those swoony blue eyes. I decide not to linger on it or else it might do something to my insides. “You have enough money to hire a whole staff, I’m sure.”
“Sure, I could. And don’t get me wrong, I definitely don’t clean any more than I have to. But we didn’t grow up like that, right? Having people in our home doing things for us.”
“I’d love to have someone cooking for me all the time,” I say with a grin, then take a sip of my coffee, which is amazing.
Jackson smiles, “Sure, I just . . . I did that, right? When I bought my first place in Toronto and had more money than I really knew what to do with. Hired a whole crew of people to keep house for me, make my meals, run my errands.” He tilts his head thoughtfully. “After a while, it gets old. Because you realize the only reason any of them are there is because of the paycheck. And that’s not a knock on them, of course. They have to make a living. But you stop paying them, and they walk away.”
I eat, though Jackson keeps my attention rapt.
“I’ve had enough of that in my life, I think.”
My heart cracks. I’ve heard a similar sentiment from Kayla the few times we’ve discussed their mother. When you have the person who is supposed to never walk away from you, walk away, that really fucks with your head.
“So, I let them all go and got a smaller place and . . . yeah. Anyway.” Jackson inhales, dispersing the cloud of what he’s just said. “I want to take you out on a proper date, Lily.”
The figurative whiplash literally knocks my head back. “That’s definitely a change in the conversation.”
He chuckles. “Sorry, I just needed to get it out.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I say, picking at the omelet with my fork.
“Um . . . what do you think?”
I run a hand through my hair. “Gosh, I don’t know. I mean, I know, it’s just . . . a little complicated I think.”
“If you don’t feel—”
“I do feel . . . the way you feel. I just don’t want to fuck this up, Jackson. It’s not like we’re just people who met on the street. If we rush, I could hurt you.”
“That’s kind of the risk you take when you do something like this.”
My heart is pounding, and it’s too hard to discern if it’s excitement or fear. I guess those feelings aren’t that far apart.
“I’m not scared,” Jackson says, eyes locked in mine. “That you’re going to hurt me.”
“How can you be so sure?” I ask. “That I won’t.”
Without missing a beat, he answers, “I’m not. That’s the point; I know that all of this could go wrong and you could totally crush me. And I’m not scared.”
My breath is shaky. I’m no longer hungry. “I don’t . . . understand.”
“This kind of thing eludes understanding, or so I’m told,” Jackson says through a light laugh. “But maybe you can trust me until you do?”
I feel my lips perking up at the corners. I’m smiling. Because I trust him. I trust Jackson Roy to take care of my heart because, save a few choices he made in the name of hurting me, he’s done that most of our lives. And if I can’t take the past few weeks as an abundant sign that he will go above and beyond to protect me and keep me safe, then it’s on me. Not him. “I—“
Before I can reply, my phone starts buzzing on the counter beside my plate. Kayla’s name flashes on the screen. The color drains from my face. “Oh, God, it’s Kay.”
Jackson leans his arms on the counter, a mischievous smile on his lips. “Put it on speaker.”
“ Jackson ,” I chastise though I’m giggling.
“Do it. I dare you,” he says, leaning even closer.
“That’s . . . ” Ridiculous? Silly? Immature? I didn’t used to be like this. Making excuses for being spontaneous. Denying a sense of adventure. A flame inside me was extinguished over the past decade of being away from Cider Bay.
And here is Jackson Roy. Serious businessman and former champion athlete, taunting me to take it further.
I want to be like that again.
I place my hands on Jackson’s, lift myself off my stool, and smash my mouth against his in an embarrassingly messy kiss. He makes a sound of surprise against my mouth but doesn’t draw away.
Before he has a chance to get comfortable, I pull away, plop back down, and put the call on speaker as I answer. “Hello?”
“Thank God you’re not dead!” Kayla squeaks.
“No, not dead.” Not like that .
“Where have you been?! Your mom and dad freaked out this morning and—”
It’s one thing to tell your best friend you might be dating her brother. But telling her you fucked him? That’s a different story. “Um. Late night. Overslept.”
“Are you with Jackson?’
I bite down on my lower lip, looking at Jackson with wide eyes. He shrugs, brows rising, hands splayed helplessly. “Uh, no, why would you think that?”
“You’re such a liar, Lily. I have your location on my phone.”
“I . . . ”
Kayla goes on. “He’s listening, isn’t he?”
I say, “No!” at the same time Jackson says, “Yes.” I reach across the counter to bat him on the shoulder, but he moves out of the way and heads toward the stove to start cleaning up after himself.
“It’s about time!” Kayla cries out. “You two have been absolutely insufferable the past few weeks. With all the ‘We’re just friends’ bullshit.”
I am blushing so hard, I’m not sure how to even speak.
Thankfully, Jackson picks up where I falter, calling out over his shoulder, “Well, if it makes you feel better, I have asked Lily on an official date.”
“Oh, my God, Jackson,” I mutter and hide my face with my hand, unable to keep from smiling.
“And what did you say, Lily, what did you say?”
Jackson freezes. He knows I didn’t officially agree. We were hemming and hawing up until the very moment Kayla called. If I had any questions about how permissive Kayla would be about a potential relationship between Jackson and me, they’ve all disappeared. Her excitement is palpable through the phone.
So now it’s just on me. Am I willing to take the risk? And do I trust him?
Yes. And yes.
“I said ‘yes,’” I answer Kayla’s question. But the words are for Jackson. I watch them land over him, his chest falling with a relieved exhale and his expression warming.
“Good,” Kayla says. “So, when is it, what are you doing, and what are you going to wear?”